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Step by Step/Issue 29
This is Issue #29 of Step by Step. This is the fifth issue of Volume Five. Not Day Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. The evening before, the sun'd dropped flat on that deal. With a mushroom cloud of swirling, burning colors, this new day had come with a beautiful sky. A brilliant orange poured out of the sun. The sky is bleeding red. Some clouds are of deep shades, and others pale pink. Lyle saw it start very slowly, like an egg yolk spilling. Inch by inch, it lathered the night with new light. The past week seemed to disappear, along with the bad times and worries he'd been through. A darky purple rolled over, then a river of gold. The colors merged, with wakening cracks in the air, and Lyle drew a breath, one with a dewy tang. Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning. He came to when he heard someone bemoan. At first, he thought it'd come from outside until he heard it come from behind him again. It came to him like tapping on a tin can. Lyle Jackson turned around, coming to face a black scene where details were few and far between. The sound came again. A congested sound, that came again and again. He was still sure it had come from outside, until a coldness wrapped around his neck. Lyle's luck was scarcer than hen's teeth. He went to warding off the thing straight-arm. It had him like a pterodactyl, with one hand around his neck and the other his back. He had crashed into the window blinds when he hurled his fist. He threw two more, then the thing came off like a shot. He managed to flick a flame with the Zippo. He was close, no more than two feet away. Dennis was atop the person. He was drilling them himself. "Kill it," Derek said, face as hard and cold as stone. "Kill it if you can." His lips dribbled with spit. He had the .38, but with hesitation to use it. The person flailed on the ground. Dennis shoved them into a stack of rebar. He shouted, "Gonna kick your ass." Dennis was on bended knee, wrestling with the person, a man. He had reddish eyes that rolled in their sockets in a fluster of rage. Dennis grabbed the man by the shoulders and thrusted him back into the rebar stack. He heard the sound of cracking knuckles and let go of the man, dead with doll's eyes. He got up and wiped his hands clean. All of this happened in a pocket of seconds. "Ain't a person," Dennis said. "Ain't people, these things." For a moment there was an unbroken calm. Lyle was back at Summercreek in the orange blaze. A glaze of hot orange bled into the room. A hand grabbed Lyle. It was Derek Woods, eyes aflame. He pointed outside, "More of them." Others of the same rank were crawling outside like mangrove roots. There were too many to make a go for the door. A few were coming from the back. One of the big guys stepped in, head drooped to the side like it was a sick joke. He took up half of the entrance alone. The three-hundred pounder came looping, arms all over the place. It looked like he was the leading man, and maybe Lyle thought he'd be good enough to stop. Lyle was wrong. More of them slipped in. The stumbling, stiff mass came like a black cloud. The big man advanced on Dennis. So then he moved, bumbling at the man and pegging him with a thick shoulder. The man stumbled back, eyes a thin-pale. That was when Lyle heard the crack of a gun beside him. Derek Woods stood shaking rigidly to his left, face greasy and bright. His mouth was down at the side, drooped in fear. A low, gurgling sound left the big man. He ripped his hand up and clasped it to his throat. A flap of flesh struck the wall near him. A crimson goo started to stain his hand. His face was clenched with shock. The big man waddled to the side and bumped into a smaller crazie. The sunshine shone across his face a set of blisters, blissfully burning red. Dennis saw this happen. He raced at the man, clotheslining him with his spare arm. The big man gave a surprise burp. The two bounded backwards and the big man flattened his colleagues, combing them as if they were itchy lice. The man's arms held Dennis tight and pushed the air out of him. They stormed outside with only the chunks of dirt to stop them. Dennis got his left foot stuck well in the brown weeds, and sent them both down. He started to punch the man like he did the last. Didn't register it. Lyle noticed he was crying. Punching and crying. Then Dennis must have saw what he'd done. He was grasping the man by the collar, shuddering in his own skin. His fist stopped to dangle above the big man's face, shaking wildly. Dennis pushed the man's weight into the ground and doubled back, his face glazed in frozen fright. There was no sound except from Dennis, sniveling as he smoothed himself out. It carried on, and Lyle exchanged a look with Derek, who wasn't looking anywhere in particular. Derek Woods had his gaze fixated on something else. The knot of crazies were back behind them, sniffing and wickering in the bright, red glare. Then Lyle became aware of a new sound. The low, rumbling of the dead from before multiplied tenfold. It came with the sound of rustling feet trickling over to them. Derek took a step forward. "That son of a bitch," he said. "These sons of bitches." "What now?" Dennis said. "Denny, I don't know." The construction zone stunk of hot shit. "We leave," said Lyle, with a place in mind. ---- Dirt encrusted the floor, grease splattered on the door. It was the look of ruin. An odd set-up of coffee-brown stains dry on the floor. The year's calender was push-pinned to the chipping wall. Nolan and Carter had rushed in like a two runner-ups at a marathon. He'd crashed into a stove in the center, bumping his head on hooks carrying both wood and steel ladles. Back in the day, Nolan'd gotten an ass-whupping from a wooden spoon. At the moment he didn't understand what made him remember that, but he'd soon find out. Joseph began to act hysterical, hands grasping the top of a grimy oven. He was panicking, arms flapping almost comically. In the gripping silence, there were wide eyes from everyone. Joseph's pupils were dilating, and he then fell to his knees. He writhed next to the oven. Something looked like it had broken in him, and that was bad. "This, isn't it?" Wayne said. He looked around the kitchen and watched Hector flat his back on the door. "It's not, right?" In the utter fear, only Malcolm managed. He looked at Wayne, his eyes circled black. "I'm not sure." In the fall of '92, Nolan would have left the kitchen from the get-go. He'd done so that fall when out with some buds. At the time Nolan was of his reckoning years, which was fine by him. He'd gone to have fun that day, though didn't get what he expected. When day quivered to night, Nolan was the only untog death. Nolan, much shorter and slimmer than a Jim, had only a Bud Light in his hand hanging over a steel bucket filled with ice cubes. He left right then and there, and like for O'Shea that same year, it'd been a Good Day. The door shook rough. Nolan guessed it would hold. The other people were along the wall ovens. Malcolm had started to gather them up at the center, locking them spellbound. Alexander walked with jitters around the pantry, too busy. Carter had gone off with Malcolm, so Nolan left his post for the pantry. Pantry goods piled-up inside the closet. As he neared the pantry, he caught a whiff of what was inside. There were mostly cardboard boxes, funky. The pantry was a bare spot, wide yet narrow. Alexander prodded through the boxes, seemingly hesitant on what he should do. A lightbulb bobbed above his head with dead light. A dud. "Y'looking for something?" Alexander backed way slightly, confused. "What?" Nolan looked over his shoulder, looking to where the others were huddled and Lilian was speaking to Malcolm, to which he responded with a chest-filled sigh. When he faded back to Alex, the farmboy had his brow cocked. The cow-tipper meets the milk-sipper. Nolan favored the boy with his best smile, arms crossed and knuckles tense. He grabbed at the boy with his eyes, those devil-black eyes that were bloody red in their whites. The two remained in the moment, until they weren't. Until Alex chilled Nolan over with a smile, a grin of his own. "What'd you see?" he asked. "Enough to buy me a Lambo." "But ..." Alexander lost his stance, that shred of confidence. He instantly lapsed back to when he was young, as most are apt to do in bad times. A line creased in the middle of Alex's face and Nolan saw him, shaking and shuddering. Nolan, who owed the Brackenbury to a tobacco-curler, flashed an intimidating set of teeth. It was a but-nothing. Nolan didn't want to deal with the bad news because that meant more bad news. He looked around, visibly at a loss for words, but keeping his smile's engine running. He wished for somebody else to come over, and strangely, help out the fellow. "You got attacked, yeah?" "You aren't my friend, what's it to you?" Nolan was taken aback. "Don't fool me. I'm no fool. I saw you. I saw you get jumped." "We don't know what a bite does." "I knew it. How bad is it, does it burn?" "I'm not afraid," Alexander said. "Don't care what the doctors have to say. I'll be fine, my Pa's with me. He'll take care of me, always has." In addition to the group, Jacob Davis raced his hands through his hair. He reeled up his sleeves, set his shirt into place over his toned chest. He had no one else but Sarah to thank for that, rest her soul. He wasn't trying keep his voice down, and over the new rumbles of fists at the door, he sounded more like he was a hissing vulture, small, round and black eyes on everyone. "Will you stop me?" his voice spoke. "Will you stop me?" Someone, Gordon groaned out a laugh while resting with his back to an oven. "Listen here," Malcolm said. "Davis, I will not let you leave. Not now by yourself, or with your daughter. Not in a while either." Nolan heard Joseph get to his feet. "Can't you make him shut up?" Lilian said, more to Kerry than anyone else. "Yeah," Nolan spoke. "You sound insane." "I'm not insane, mister. I've been in a bad mood for over a couple years." Then something clattered to the side. The restroom door went pell-mell, swinging back as Hector raced out. He looked terrifyingly happy, at peace. Behind him, he pointed a hand at a bathroom porthole. No bigger than a lampshade. "This is crazy, but," the cop trained his eyes on Malcolm. "I think it's a way out." "What do you mean?" the sergeant asked. He'd taken a step towards Hector, the restroom at the end of the kitchen. "No bullshit, and it's got potential." He waved a hand at the porthole, emphasizing it. "This, here. Nobody's outside, clear as crystal." Nolan saw Alex take a step forward. "I'd be happy to try it out." Alex retraced that step when Nolan pulled him back by the arm. He was biting down his lip, teeth gritted. "Don't you dare." He saw something flicker in Alex's eyes, a moment where he melted back to when he was no longer a soldier. It was the look of a boy. Alex looked back at Nolan and it looked like he might have stayed put, but then Hector called and Alex tore himself from the grip. "Okay, let's roll." Nolan looked at Amanda, closest to him. She shrugged. It was obvious, out of the blue. Back at Summercreek, they'd been beyond scared and let that fear motivate them. Now in the church there was no room for nail-biting fear, only hurdles to pass over. That's what Alex was doing when he walked over to the bathroom. The moaning then reached a high-pitch. The sound rolled off both of Joseph's ears, and it gave him chills. The chills, he had them. He, like all would when they hear an change in noise, snapped his eyes at the door. Not the porthole like he'd hoped for–a reason to call off the plan–but the lobby door. "Don't do this," Amanda said. "It's a mistake." "I gotcha, Dixie." Hector grinned madly. "Now pass me that Mag-Lite." Malcolm walked over to the bathroom, peering in like it was some sort of crime scene. "You ready for this?" Alex nodded, and Nolan could see the pride in him. "You bet your money on it." Hector made a move for the porthole, sounded the alarm by bashing it open with his shotgun. "Let's finish up in a hurry," he said. The chilly air wisped in thinly then thickened out. Nolan saw Alex make another sting of the face, pouting as he looked out into the shadows of the night. He scratched the back of his head and moved. He came over to the porthole, raised himself on the toilet, and out went one leg. This air was cold. Nothing like the ones he'd felt in February weather. His mouth dropped, then went the other leg. Hector had his gun focused, watching. Joseph carried himself over to the porthole, followed by Nolan. Malcolm and the others were more hesitant, watching like bystanders. "You got me?" Alex said to the both of them. Joseph nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Promise?" "You bet your bottom dollar." Alexander didn't look to see, but he was sure Nolan had said that. The outside was cool. He let the winds glide over him, feeling great. He saw an utter still Polaroid picture, caught in the moment. Trees shook, branches ruffled. The streets, minus the litter and flooding of parked cars, were a long highway to the sky. A red sky at morning, and if campfire tales had told him enough– "Oh my God," was his first reaction. He looked down. A tar-black hand had him by the left leg. It was wild, curling over his ankle. Alex's eyes bulged, and the pride disappeared. He came back the next moment screaming bloody murder. The hand rose up, grabbing his lower leg. And then he felt more hands trickle their way at him, starting from his foot up to his knee. The sea of hands smothered his leg, making it look like a black centipede. He dropped out, no less than a two-footing. Alex grabbed the top of the porthole and tore himself himself back in. That seemed to make the hands even madder. One hand came up and Alex felt it latch onto his thigh, then the hand tugged a head up and that head's mouth had its teeth disappear into the thigh. An arm crawled through the porthole, yanking on Alex's shirt. "Help me," Alex said. "Help me, come on, please!" Nolan stood closest, yet Joseph made first moves. He grabbed Alex by the shoulders, tugging back. The boy slipped out, and Joseph only saw him chest-up. Then they got some leverage, and moved backwards. Right after, the same arm came back up and Alex saw it lock onto his collar. That was when Nolan heard him scream louder than any moans ever did. Nolan ripped the kid's arm up, planting it to the wall. He nodded to Joseph, and the man tugged as hard as he could. It came to no avail. Nolan held Alex tight by the waist, trying to reel him back in. The two of them knew what was happening and Alex did too. Alex was three quarters outside. His eyes met Nolan's for a split second. They were hellishly aware. "Give us a fucking hand," Nolan shouted. "I'm sorry," they heard Hector say. They all did. "I didn't know, really." Other hands now crept over Alex, covering over his throat. Alex was now at neck-level looking like he was struggling to do some chin-ups. A big hand came through the porthole and latched over Alexander's throat, and then all Nolan saw was red. Rose-red blood caked his face. Something must have happened because then Alex's face went slack, a little groan leaving him. He felt weightless. Fingers pulled over him and over Nolan as well, so he let go. "Happy thoughts, Alex." he heard himself say. It was almost a whisper, if there was a name for speech less than that. Joseph was still going at it. He redoubled his grip and tugged, really tugged this time. It bought him an inch or two, but nothing more. All the wind knocked out of him and he started back, startled. The hands were too very strong. Alex still had his hand around the porthole, but then it was ripped loose and slipped under with him. There was more, more of the screams. It wasn't Alex–only his arms were still in. It came from the others behind him. Nolan left and took a couple steps toward Hector. "You got that kid killed." "I'm sorry," he whined and wasn't aware when Nolan struck him in the face. Hector stumbled back, the shotgun hitting the floor. He was dazed, but not dazed enough. Nolan struck him another, one that'd leave a shiner if left out in the sun to dry. "You got his fucking blood on me," he said. "You get a fucking good show out of that?" Hector stepped forward, as if expecting another hit. Another punch did come and it rolled him all the way into the pantry. A shower of boxes fell in a cascade, and the opened ones too. Before Hector could come back to realize he was still being hit, he was covered in cereal boxes and cans of donated goods. "I'm sorry," he was still saying. His jaw relaxed and he eased back into the pantry. He was now devoid of words. Nolan took a step back, getting to start laughing. "He was a kid, y'know. What's your excuse?" Meanwhile, Alex screamed out loud once more. Joseph was tugging, pulling him, and hands crawled over him like worms. He managed to gain an impressive foot, reeling Alex back in. There were fingers everywhere on him and a few on his face. Alex was trying to get the better part of him back in by flattening one arm horizontally across the wall. He used his right hand to get a new hold onto the porthole's top edge. A head with fish-like eyes then popped out of the porthole and landed a set of teeth on Alex's shoulder. The arm from before had a tight handle around his neck and wouldn't let go. Alex's body was a nest of hands and fingers. His eyes were bulging bigger than life itself. A new arm paid out through the porthole and took him by the head. His head whipped back and forth and Joseph put Alexander in a full nelson. Alex's eyes grew with terror and closed an eye that the new arm went for, scraping into it and trying to dig it out. Nolan hurried over to them. He grabbed a frying pan from an oven on the way. He saw how badly Alex was in trouble and it reminded him of what happened after that fall day. He'd been jogging away from the house like a shortstop. Drunk out of all senses, he moved down the sidewalk and into the crevasses of the downtown block. As it turned out, the local boys in blue had heard a whole lotta noise from his friend's house. All arrested and were taken in to the pound for the rest of the night, and Nolan thanked God for not letting the thought of more Buds stick him in with them. However, what Alex seemed to feel right now was how Nolan felt after getting spotted on the sidewalk by some boy-in-blue. The cop recognized him from an earlier joy-ride of his and must have noticed the beer can still in Nolan's hands. The cop said, "What're you doin here still, boy?" and Nolan was then pushed into a jail cell, much like how Alex was being pulled out in the night. He hit one of the hands with the pan and it rebounded off. He was astonished how many there were, how reckless Hector had been. There goes the senses again. Nolan struck the arm that had seized Alex's throat and it recoiled back out the porthole. The one around his eyes slithered away. Other hands did not seem to budge. Alex's hand came off the porthole. Nolan had started to bash away the one head biting down on Alex's shoulder, but it was far too late. When he swung again, blind to the fact Alex was getting pulled back out, he struck Alex on the forehead with the pan. Joseph managed to keep him still and Nolan started to wrench Joseph around the small of his back. Alex's hands scrambled wildly for another grip, another second chance. He got flipped to the side and all of him started to slip out. "This isn't happening." Nolan had a both hands pressed on Alex's shoulder, the surge of hands pulling him out as well. He looked at all the hands, the arms they were connected to and the dead folks they belonged to. He found way to the boy's belt and put all his faith into a single tug. That was what really did it. A hand crept over Nolan's face as he was pulled half-out. A murmur left his trembling lips and a cold disgust wrapped around his own throat. The fingers, oh the fingers, they were a twisted mess on his face. This was the scare of his life. So he let go of Alex and he fell on all fours, gasping. He rolled around on the floor, huffing like a dry motor. The hands were withdrawing, pulling what remained to be seen of Alexander away. He saw the kid's scalp bob back in, like he was jerking himself back in. That was all, nothing more. The swarm gave a gigantic pull–Alex was gone. The porthole still had hands coming through. Those were the eager ones, the ones who couldn't get enough. This moaning was new and fresh, making the bunch at the lobby door sound like child's play. Joseph cringed as he backed out the bathroom, mouth covered in disgust. It was multiplied by a thousandfold. It wasn't the thought of Alex getting sucked through the window alone that made him get sick to the stomach. It was all of the above, from Alex begging to them eating Alex. Exhausted, he dropped on both knees. "I'm sorry," Hector was still babbling on. Malcolm shut the bathroom door. He was in a frozen state of mind. Overwhelmed, that's what he was. His eyes were wide and cheeks were lax, like he was trying to digest it all. He adjusted his belt buckle and moved over to Hector who was back up again. The officer was a cherry-red when Malcolm walked over and shoved him back into the pantry, shucking his chin with a fist. Hector flew back, landing on the pile of donations. No one seemed to object, only watched. He made a chance effort to get back up, "I thought it'd work out, so how in the world was I supposed to know it wouldn't? You were getting on my nerves and I wanted to help out. I didn't know." Someone screamed outside the porthole. Alexander. "Nerves," Malcolm said. Malcolm didn't help the man up. Instead he traced back to Nolan and moaned into his hands. All his exhaust fluttered out. Malcolm wiped clean his face and noticed he was covered slick with sweat. A noise sprung his ears then, and that was the noise of the moaning. The dreaded moaning which surrounded them. "Now we're dead," Nolan said, making a sweep of the bathroom scene with his eyes. "We tried doing something and it blew us back, to first base. That's gotta mean something.” "We don't die because we try." While thunder banged above the church, and Nolan looked at the sole youth-in-boots who'd tried his best to save the other youth-in-boots, Joseph's eyes turned into tired little flowers. "We die because we lie." Nobody bothered to argue. Alexander screamed one last time. ---- Issues Category:Step by Step Category:Category:Step by Step Issues Category:Issues